Silent Dawn
by catharsis-lost
Summary: All it takes for evil to triumph is for the good men to do nothing.
1. PROLOGUE: THE TRIAL

**Yeah, there's a big long author's note for you next chapter.**

'_Kill you? Why would I want to kill you?' –The Joker_

PROLOGUE: THE TRIAL

Bruce was lost in a sea of camera flashes. The effect was rather dizzying, and had a sense of déjà-vu about it- and a sense of something to come as well. His eyes were dazzled.

Blinking furiously, he cleared his eyes. He had to see this, he just had to. Just had to prove to himself that the man was really, truly being taken to Arkham to be locked up. Because that would be a relief. Bruce wasn't sure if they would give him the death penalty: he'd certainly killed enough people, but then Bruce remembered that it wasn't legal here in good 'ol Gotham, which was a relief, in a way. His head was full of relief. If they had killed the criminal, that would have been maybe what he had wanted.

Something about the flashbulbs was doing something to his head. Sleep deprivation, too. That must be what was causing him to think in leaps and bounds, to flutter from idea to idea like a bird searching frantically for a perch. Calm yourself, Bruce.

His gaze finally focused on the bobbing dirty-blond head that jerked through the sea of people. There was a small empty space around it, save for the two guards that held each arm. Everyone was giving him a wide berth.

The scars were barely visible under the curtain of hair hiding the face from the legions of photographers.

With a police officer on each arm, the prisoner wasn't getting time to linger. Bruce glared at the man, watching him come closer and closer. Thoughts flipped through his head acrobatically, changing by the second. I have to see him; I don't want to see him; why should I care?; go to hell. Oh, god, he needed to get out of here and get to bed.

Just as the guards and the convict passed by, a sudden step flipped a lock of the man's hair off of his face. The criminal's eyes shifted up, and he stared into Bruce's own.

Bruce and the Joker's fierce looks met, collided, seemed to spark in midair and give birth to something invisible. Cool blankness poured over Bruce while mirth sprung from the Joker. He laughed, a terribly joyful sound, and smacked his lips.

'Why so serious, Bruce?' he called, grinning widely. Then the officers yanked him off down the steps, and the connection was broken, and the echo of the statement vanished from the air. Feet clopped on the stairs and Bruce couldn't follow. All he could do was watch, horrified (or, rather, confused, as Bruce tried to stay away from horror as much as he could during the day), as they bustled away.

The last thing he heard was the Joker's final words before being shoved into the back of the cruiser.

'Don't worry.'

Relief flipped in his throat for some reason. It must have been the sleep deprivation. The lights. They flashed away and then puttered out, snapping a few photos of the bizarre look on his face. Yeah, it was the cameras; it was the cameras and his tired mind.


	2. CHAPTER ONE: BRIGHT, SHINING MORNING

**Hey, this is the author here. Sorry about the lack of explanation of anything last chapter- I wasn't used to 's submission process because I usually write on other sites. This fic is mainly a self-gratification thing. Really, it's only to entertain me and occupy my time and maybe flex my writing skills a little. So when you see me going off on a tangent about something, it's probably because it amuses me personally. If there's something you want to see go down during the course of the story, leave me a comment about it. Also, I'm looking for a better title. Please, if you think of one...**

**This story should be interesting. To me, at least. Post-TDK. There will be some Batman/Joker later- but not in the way you're expecting, Bruce/Rachel reflection, action, angst, death, humour, crime, etc. The chapters won't be very long unless they need to be. Yada, yada, yada.**

**It's 12:19 A.M. Cut me a break, alright?**

**Oh, yeah, and I don't own any aspect of this story whatsoever. Barely the plot.**

CHAPTER ONE: BRIGHT, SHINING MORNING

Bruce rolled over in bed, mumbling incoherently. Something about the light just didn't sit well with him.

'What's that, Master Wayne? I can't hear you through the pillows,' Alfred said, chuckling lightly. So his butler was in high spirits today. That was almost always a bad sign... or a really good sign. With Bruce's disposition being what it was, he immediately assumed the former.

He decided to use an old favourite line of his. 'Bats are nocturnal,' he grumbled. Alfred had long run out of responses to that one; he merely laughed.

'It's nearly half-past noon, and you've a meeting to attend at Wayne Enterprises at 1:15. Breakfast is ready if you'd like it. Or rather, come eat breakfast. You need to eat some.'

The tone in his voice was fatherly and amused. What was it about today that had him happy? It struck Bruce that he shouldn't be irritated at Alfred for being cheery, but not knowing what was causing the great mood was bugging him.

Finally rolling over, Bruce blinked the sunlight out of his eyes and addressed the older man. 'What's the good news?'

'Nothing in particular, Master Wayne. The sun is just shining a little brighter than usual today. There's a children's festival at Thomson Park and they're holding a concert there later promoting unity among different peoples of the city. All in all, a fine day,' Alfred declared. Folding his hands together, he smiled at Bruce.

Obviously, all of these positive things meant something more to Alfred. All the good plans the mayor had announced that they ('they' the government, the authority) had for the city meant to him- and to the people of Gotham- that things would go on. It had been less than two weeks since the Joker had been caught, yet things were already sliding back into normalcy. Normal for Gotham, at least. 

Bruce wasn't sure that it would last, as the police were sliding some of their focus onto killing the Batman: his stomach clenched painfully. In any case, the city would survive for now. They had lost their White Knight, but they would carry on in his powerful memory. That's what the children's festival and the Unity Concert were for, apparently. Repressing a shudder at thinking of how the people of Gotham would react if they found that Harvey Dent had been responsible for those murders, Bruce calmed his thoughts. Hopefully, this peace was the dawn Harvey had spoken of. Hopefully.

Alfred shook Bruce out of his reverie with his rolling voice.

'Let's take a look at that wound, shall we? See how it's healing up?'

'It's fine, Alfred. Fine,' Bruce said, pulling up the covers around his stomach, covering the bandaged area on his lower abdomen. 'It's nothing to worry about. It was a shallow injury to begin with. The Kevlar pretty much stopped it.'

Despite his protests, Alfred dragged down the bedclothes, pursing his lips. Gently, he removed the white bandage. There was only a small, circular red mark that looked like a rather nasty gash that'd just begun its journey down the path of healing. Small, almost faded bruises surrounded it. Alfred made a tutting noise and simply put on a new bandage. Bruce watched passively.

Once Alfred was finished with his medical work, Bruce thanked him wordlessly and straightened up out of bed, falling to the ground and beginning his regiment of morning exercises. Alfred sighed as he straightened up Bruce's messy bed.

'Be careful there. You don't want me having to fix you up even more,' Alfred quipped. The last pillow was now in line, and he walked around his employer (who had proceeded to crunches) headed to the door.

'I still don't see why you won't let me take you to the doctor.'

Bruce answered him in between sit-ups. His gunshot wound stung mildly each time he lifted his body off the floor, but was nowhere near enough to make him stop. Exercise was soothing, mindless.

'No injuries I've sustained so far have been bad enough for me to need to see a doctor. Thanks for your concern, though, Alfred. I'm perfectly alright,' Bruce replied, trying to be soft. There was no way he could go to a hospital for something that had happened to Batman. Way too risky.

'I'm not so sure about that... but you know yourself best, I suppose,' Alfred said. His voice was sad and caring, trying to be humorous and serious at the same time. The butler stepped out the door, calling something about breakfast and getting dressed.

Not really listening, Bruce finished up his stretches, feeling his weary muscles expand and bend. He wondered whether anyone truly knew him, including himself.

**Soooo... first real chapter. Not much of anything went on, but I've been toying around with the mental image of Alfred dressing Bruce's wounds for a while. Eh. Yep.**

**catharsis-lost, signing off here. New chapter sometime during the day or tomorrow or something. Maybe.**


	3. CHAPTER TWO: A THIN LAYER OF PROTECTION

**Tah-dah! Here's the new chapter. In it, we get a little character development between Lucius, Bruce, and a semi-new face (who will come into play later, I assure you), a little mental imagery of the shirtless Bruce (ooh, la-la, Christian Bale!), and some new swag for Batman. It's actually a rather long one. None of it may seem important, but I'm laying a lot of foundations here, so to speak. For those of you who are impatient for the Joker to show up, he's coming soon: within the next two chapters, I promise. And to those who asked what was going to happen with the Batman/Joker, it's more of a metaphysical connection or attraction rather than an 'OMG LES MAKE TEH SEXY!' sort of thing. Yeah...**

**Thanks to all my reviewers and to everyone who favourited this and/or put it on alert. Hopefully, I won't disappoint you! I'm leaving on a cruise Monday but will still write and prospectively update during that time. New chapter tonight or tomorrow. It'll be a big one!**

'_You're going to have to think of an explanation for all of these injuries soon. Polo, perhaps.' -Alfred_

CHAPTER TWO: A THIN LAYER OF PROTECTION

This meeting was driving Bruce insane. It wasn't that the idea of starting up a telecommunications arm wasn't a good idea (he snorted at the irony when Lucius first told him about the idea), it was just the way the board was going about it. So overwhelmingly cautious and yet risky at the same time. The marketing was boring, the product was new-age mainstream but pushing the technology, and they were doing careful research beforehand. Bruce sighed. Business wasn't for him. He stared out the window absentmindedly, nodding and smiling and giving assent at all the right times.

Suddenly, everyone stood up from the table and Bruce hastily followed their cue. Shaking hands with the stiff, smackingly sharp man who had proposed the concept, he followed Lucius out the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone eyeing him, but he paid them no attention and tapped the older man on the shoulder.

'Lucius?' he said lowly. 'I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you.' Lucius gave him a long, appraising look before pursing his lips. For a second, Bruce wondered if he would say no.

'It'd better be quick. You can tell me down in Applied Sciences; I was just going down there to get something I'd forgotten.'

They got to the elevator quickly and wordlessly descended. Bruce wasn't a mood for conversation (he rarely was) and Lucius seemed to be on the brink of saying something every few seconds but then convinced himself not to.

When there was silence instead of Muzak, Bruce felt compelled to say something if only to rescue Lucius from having to.

'Are you going to the charity events tonight?' he asked, keeping his tone pleasantly conversational. His voice cut through the clopping of their feet on the linoleum dissonantly.

Lucius nodded, and for a while it appeared he wasn't going to answer, but then he did. 'I'm bringing someone to the children's festival. I may not stay for the concert, though, unless she forces me to.' He chuckled. His face grew grim when they stepped into the cool basement-like space of Applied Sciences. The door slid shut behind them and Lucius walked over to an old-looking monitor sitting on 

a desk surrounded by empty boxes. From behind it, he pulled a blue mug. Bruce read the lettering on it after Lucius wiped it on his shirt.

'Best grandpa in the world? You've got grandchildren?' Bruce figured this was probably a stupid thing to be asking, but it had simply never occurred to him. He'd never thought of Lucius as someone who had a family or a home or anything like that. To him, he'd simply been an entity, a man who placed the gun on the wall when he was bidden so it could be used later in the story. Now he realised he was just another real human with real human things about him. In a flicker of an instant, Bruce wondered if he was an entity to people.

'Of course I've got grandchildren,' Lucius said, breaking his chain of thought. 'Who did you think I was taking to the children's festival?' His eyebrow arched comically.

Laughing slightly, Bruce shook his head. 'I don't know- your wife, maybe?'

Lucius' eyes fell. Had he said something wrong? It took a bit of paper-straightening for Lucius to respond.

'My wife died four years ago.'

'I'm so sorry. I didn't know,' Bruce replied automatically. Guilt pierced his chest. He knew what death felt like. Acutely.

'You don't have anything to be sorry about. She wasn't the youngest woman around, and she got sick. Not much you can do then but enjoy what time you've got left. She had a happy, long life,' Lucius said. Nodding, Bruce felt a bit of relief. That wasn't so bad, then. Surely Lucius missed her, but at least she hadn't died painfully or violently. He felt a new level of connection to the other man, though.

'So what is it you wanted to talk to be about? Probably not my family life,' he chuckled. 'You'd better hurry. I've got to go change and then pick up my granddaughter Matilda.'

Bruce clasped his hands together, trying to think of words. 'Well, I need something.'

'Something?'

'Do you have any ultra-light or thin Kevlar?'

Lucius made a face. Scratching his head and sighing, he looked worn out- every bit his age. Again Bruce hoped he wasn't asking too much of him.

'Like a bulletproof wetsuit? I'm pretty sure the Navy SEALS had something like that made a few years ago. I can check, but-'

He was cut off when the door opened suddenly. Both Lucius and Bruce tensed. Visitors were unexpected and generally unwelcome down in Applied Sciences. In this case, both. Coleman Reese looked incredibly nervous and out-of-place underneath the buzzing fluorescent lights. Giving him an appraising look, Bruce prepared to talk, but Lucius beat him to it.

'What are you doing down here, Mr. Reese? Surely there's not anything so urgent that you had to follow me here to tell me?' he said, unassuming yet poisonously cordial. No love seemed to be lost between the two; Lucius was always polite, nonetheless. Their bitterness probably arose from too much time spent discussing money, as such relationships in business often do.

Coleman looked back and forth from Lucius to Bruce and then at his own feet. Meeting Lucius' eyes shakily, he answered.

'I... I came down because I was cur- I wanted to speak with- '

'You actually do know, then?' said Bruce. The interruption couldn't have come at a better time. Coleman gave the impression of a man who was about to feint, although Bruce's deep voice stopping his explanation seemed to be little help to his whole predicament. Trying to put across a fuming look, he glared at a spot just south of Bruce's nose.

'Of course I do! Anyone who looked at your books with half a brain and did the right amount of snooping would!' he said indignantly.

'You admit to snooping?'

'What was I supposed to do, let it lay? I'd just discovered the Batman, for Christ's sa-'

He was the one who abruptly stopped himself mid-word. Apparently he had realised the gravity of the situation. Bruce, meanwhile, was caught somewhere between apprehension, annoyance, and amusement, drumming his fingers on the side of his leg. While he thought through his options, Lucius watched them both awkwardly.

'You're... you're a murderer! Public enemy number one! I should get the police to arrest you. I bet they'd reward me heavily. But...' he trailed off, unwilling to finish the though out loud. Obviously he was contemplating whether or not telling a so-called 'cold-blooded killer' about his plans to turn him in to his face was a suicide attempt. 'What should I do?' The last question was aimed more at himself than anyone else. Bruce spoke up.

'Do you really think I killed those people? Honestly. Listen, Mr. Reese, I sincerely would like to talk to you about all this. If you found all my hidden funds, you must be pretty good with numbers, so maybe I could use your help disguising them better. I just need to talk to Mr. Fox here for a few minutes longer, alright?' Bruce assuaged. It was hard not to sound patronising when Coleman had a look of childlike fear on his face, even though the man was couple years his senior. Eyes narrow, the accountant took in and evaluated Bruce's words in the way that such men of numbers were prone to. When it seemed that a whole minute had slid by like the uncomfortable dripping of an ice-cream cone onto one's had, Bruce cleared his throat.

'Mr. Reese?'

Coleman shook himself. 'I would... maybe be open to discussing things with you at a later date. Thursday?'

'Thursday would be good,' Bruce said, relieved. 'Now, could I talk to Lucius?'

'I do have to go in about ten minutes. I don't want to be late,' Lucius offered. He tapped his watch face for emphasis.

'Sure, go ahead and talk. I'm not leaving. I need to see this. Hear this, whatever,' Coleman said. He was probably still as uneasy as ever.

'Mr. Reese, I think you should-'

Bruce was eager to calm Coleman and gain his trust. 'No, no, Lucius. Let him stay; we've only got a small thing to do, anyway.' Already Bruce groaned inwardly at the preening look in Coleman's eyes.

Lucius nodded and proceeded to ignore the third man, heading over to a keypad-locked drawer on one of the walls. Typing in a few numbers, he began to speak.

'This is the last thing I can give you for a while, Bruce, you know that?' he said, pulling it open and removing a black box with white writing on the lid. Bruce appeared surprised, but then thought it through. Of course Lucius couldn't endanger Wayne Enterprises or himself through association with a known criminal. At least, not until Batman was vindicated. Morosely, Bruce shook his head.

'Of course. I would just prefer to not be dead. The police have good aim,' he said plainly. Taking the box from Lucius, he opened it and surveyed its contents. A dark grey fabric was inside, folded carefully. He removed it and held it up. The Kevlar was a long-sleeved shirt that looked rather like sports clothing, but felt more like fine, plasticy chain mail.

'This looks good. Should fit under the suit. Is it actually bulletproof?' he asked. Curiosity was a deep part of his nature. Lucius was used to his questions.

'Not as much as a normal vest or anything like that, but it does reduce the impact velocity significantly and keep most of anything from penetrating. It may not save your life, but it will prolong it,' he said, darkly humorous. Bruce smile/winced.

'Aren't you going to try it on?' said Lucius, when he saw Bruce making to put in back in the box. 'It's not like you can go out and get alterations done on it.' Omni-practical, Lucius was. That hadn't occurred to Bruce, especially since there weren't changing rooms in Applied Sciences.

'I'm sure it will be fine.' Then he saw the look Lucius gave him that reminded him of a thrifty grandmother, and he took it out again and started unbuttoning his shirt, embarrassed. Both Lucius and Coleman seemed quite amused to see him in such a state. Turning around when he tugged off his white Oxford, he scratched his shoulder and flexed his sore right arm subconsciously. He couldn't (and didn't want to) see the two sets of eyes on the numerous scars decorating his back. Lucius in particular glared at a fiery red burn mark on his collar area, while Coleman was completely shocked by the whole mess of injuries that the scars mapped. Bruce was more concerned with trying to find the way into the Kevlar. His marked skin was normal to him.

The scene was erased when the curtain of fabric was pulled over his head and drawn into place. Facing them again, Bruce twitched an eyebrow.

'What? Grey not my colour?' he said. Each of their faces were piteous.

'Where'd you get that tattoo, Bruce?' Lucius said, attempting to break the ice and satisfy his curiosity at once. Puzzled for a moment, Bruce pinpointed in his mind what they must be thinking about, and then replied.

'Oh, that tattoo? Abroad.'

'Abroad?' Coleman asked, sceptical. That was all Bruce needed to say on the matter. They wanted more.

'China. Whatever,' Bruce replied nonchalantly, patting the shirt and noting that it fit well. 'Fits.'

The fact that the tattoo was from China was obvious from the blue-black oriental lettering.

'Where in China?' Lucius said while Bruce removed the Kevlar and returned it to its place in the box.

'Ah, Tibet, I think. Yeah, Tibet,' he said. He dressed speedily. Before they could drill him more, he secured the black box holding the Kevlar in his briefcase and prepared to leave.

'Thank you for this. It'll be a comfort to me, I'm sure. And keep me from having to fix more bullet holes. I'm starting to look like Swiss cheese. Mr. Reese, I'll be in touch with you soon. Have fun at the children's festival, Lucius,' he said rapidly, covering all bases. Lucius and Coleman exchanged looks before following him out the door. As they sat in silence in the elevator, Bruce was glad he hadn't been forced to explain more. He wasn't certain he wanted to share the fact that he'd received the tattoo in a Chinese prison, and he was relieved that they hadn't seen his chest or the other scars and marks that covered it. Questions were a bane of his existence.

**Wow, you read all that? Thanks! –catharsis-lost**


	4. CHAPTER THREE: THE PUNCH LINE

**So sorry for the huge wait (alright, not that huge- only three weeks, but comparatively monstrous) for this chapter. My writing mojo dried up, and life blitzed me. But I think maybe this chapter is worth it. Not necessarily writing-wise; definitely content wise. You're getting something you readers were looking for in this chapter. I'll just quit talking and let you read. Dear ol' Lucius narrates this extravaganza here.**

'_And I thought my jokes were bad.' –The Joker_

CHAPTER THREE: THE PUNCH LINE

He kept a careful eye on Matilda while she got her face painted. There was quite the crowd gathered around the tables- it was a popular attraction- and although Lucius knew there was a small chance of her wandering off while she was getting done up like a cat you couldn't be too careful in Gotham. Sometimes, people had their cars stolen while they were in them. While they were driving, even. Resisting the urge to chuckle at the darkly humorous thought, he smiled at his granddaughter as she grinned gap-toothedly at him, wrinkling her now white-covered face.

It was getting late. With the night usually came the immediate alarm to go home, but now it was a call to the impromptu stage and seats that had been set up down on the eastern edge of the park. Matilda had insisted on staying for the concert. The music looked like it would be alright, with some progressive band that dabbled in a lot of genres playing, and Lucius had agreed. He could never say no to her cute little eyes that looked so much like her mother's and her grandmother's. She might have been milking him. It worked.

Lucius should have realised that giving Matilda sugar (cotton candy, to be precise; it stuck to her lips like blue whiskers and made her cat look even more realistic) would only prolong her alertness. Now, instead of peacefully slipping off to the car after she had gotten too sleepy, he was forced to endure more pseudo-indie boy band music than he had ever heard before. His wicked conscience sniggered at his own misfortune. Even though only three songs had been played so far, it seemed like an eternity to Lucius as he kept a weary, watchful eye on Matilda, who danced at the edge of the stage some ten feet away from him. They'd been _lucky _enough to snag seats down in the front, grassy area that seemed to have been designed to be killer on old men's backs.

A whine of the guitar trailed off into the last fading drum note. Clapping politely: maybe out of relief- Lucius reaffirmed the location of Matilda and focused half of his attention on the hairy bassist making his way to the mic and half on his twirling granddaughter. Just when the frontman grabbed the stand, a crackle of static grabbed his tongue.

The voice that came out of the speakers was not the tremulous baritone of the musician. It was a voice that effectively took whatever words the bassist had been about to say and shoved them down his throat, such was its power. Needless to say, every adult in the park tensed when they heard it spill out of the speakers like a toxic gas, Lucius included. Instinctively, he stood. He had to get to Matilda. There was nothing else he could do but get her out. He wasn't a young, strong, hero, and this just threw him into protective grandpa mode. Fifty other guardians had the same idea, however.

The Joker continued his tirade, unfased by the mild hysteria that was beginning to unfold in the throng. While the band member stood dumbly at the mic, the madmen's speech dripped out of the amplifiers.

'-there's not really much to it. You all should invest in security. Ah, pay your bills, you know? And keep closer tabs on your hospital staff. Anyways, I simply wanted to remind you all of what you'd been missing while I was gone. I was honoured that you'd thrown this bash and I thought it would make an, uh, excellent welcome-back party. But what's a party without some candles?' His tone lilted joyously, leaping and then crawling from one syllable to the next, weaving a tuneless song of terror that had everyone in the audience more transfixed than the group's music ever could. Because of this, all of their internal warning alarms went off too late.

A piercing crescendo of laughter tumbled into the air and with it came a bullet that flew faster than the eye could see at the unfortunate front man, who took it to the chest and jerked backward sickeningly, like a marionette yanked unexpectedly in some macabre puppet show. In that moment, the screaming began. Lucius started shouting. He wasn't sure what he was saying, though he swore he heard things like 'Matilda, I'm coming!' and 'Clear out, everyone! Everyone, careful!' and 'Oh, shit, what's happening?' (perhaps that one a tad quieter, under his breath). His analytic mind worked overtime to locate the bobbing, braided head while his eyes were unable to look away from the band rushing towards their fallen bassist. Something else was about to go terribly wrong. He knew it.

Something soared through the sky and landed behind the drum set and then exploded. One cymbal sliced dangerously close to Lucius- close enough for him to not check behind him for fear of what he might see- while countless other bits of flaming shrapnel pierced the waterproof tarp over the stage. Another grenade was all it took to dispatch the rest of the performing area and the performers. Fire sprinkled down from the sky; in a few seconds the wheezing cackle of the Joker was cut off ominously as the speakers sparked and burst into flames.

Lucius could still hear the giggling in his head louder than the sounds of panic as he frantically rushed towards where he knew/hoped that Matilda would be. She would be O.K., he would keep her safe, he had to keep her safe, he had a sort-of plan and it would work.

His sort-of plan collapsed with the pillar holding up the banner that was emblazoned with the band's name. _The Punch Line, _written in bright green Gothic lettering on midnight purple. The Joker certainly had a terrible sense of humour, thought Lucius wryly and out of the blue as he pushed past an overweight mad whose jaw was about touching his pot belly. As the sign drifted down lazily he tried to the smoke from his head.

There was Matilda, underneath the falling banner. Her smeared face paint was eerie in the moving light and the white set her apart from the crowd. Setting his jaw, Lucius grabbed her swiftly and shoved his way out of the crowd, not looking down or back or anywhere but ahead, towards where they had parked the car a good hundred and twenty yards away. She was hot and sweaty and he wasn't in great shape and he strained as he ran for his black, boxy 'sport' minivan (he thanked whatever God there might be that he had opted for a faster make in an attempt to preserve his youth). The heat from the flames seemed to be in his lungs. The make-up and candy smell of his 

granddaughter was in his nose, so that kept him sprinting. They made it to the car when he heard a fresh round of gunshots, explosions, and shrieks.

Lucius sat her down matter-of-factly in the back seat after wrenching open the door and buckled her in in a businesslike manner. It didn't even occur to him that he'd forgotten to lock the doors foolishly. No doubt something had been stolen.

None of those thoughts even darted through his head as he took her face in hers, thinking only of calming his breathing and of the keys in his pocket and the girl in his hands. Firmly, he planted a kiss on her black hair, murmuring some soft assurance of safety. The door was closed gently and the front one opened with new vigour. His momentum continued, and he told her everything would be alright while he started up the engine. When it roared into life he noticed the white face paint tainting his hands and he merely stared at them for a while, feeling adrenaline fade and horror tingle in his fingertips. Some flash from the make-shift arena brought back logic. Lucius looked back up, blinking, then backed out of the parking spot. Even with the image of the bleeding bassist and his Matilda's clownish face branded in his retina, he couldn't miss the black shape soaring down from the nearest building, blending in with the dark almost imperceptibly.

**Oho, Joker's back! You wouldn't believe how long it took me to write the perfect scene I had cooked up in my head for his grand return, and I still don't think I did it justice. My heart's only now clearing up from the intensity. Thanks to all of my readers for sticking to this fic or to anyone just starting to read. I should update more regularly now. E-cookies to all of those fantastic people who take the time to review and click the favourite/alert button, because you guys make writing this even more of a pleasure. And lastly, for your enjoyment, my notes for this chapter. If you're interested in what happens when I rarely decide to document my ideas but can't be bothered to actually get into actually penning the story.**

_**watching concert front lawn side frontman goes up after second song to speak at mic starts talking no sound joker on instead he gives mini-speech then frontman is shot while people begin to panic hysteria bandmates rush to help in confusion grenade is thrown on stage lucius few others notice screaming they shout explosion laughing cut off over speakers panic**_


End file.
